The Burning White (80 page)

Karris was silenced, her mouth open.

Grinwoody smirked triumphantly, lickspittle that he was.

“But enough,” Andross said. “A wise man provides himself a quiver full of arrows, but the warrior who finds himself down to two defectives doesn’t simply give up fighting, does he?”

“ ‘Two defectives’?” Kip said, accidentally speaking out loud. Andross seemed glad to have landed a blow. But Kip continued, “
Two
? So Zymun’s finally been showing you his true colors, huh? Has he been raping the servants?”

He saw the sickened, guilty look on Karris’s face and the flash of anger on Andross’s.

“More than one, then?” Kip asked. As if Kip hadn’t warned them Zymun was a serpent.

Shit! He shouldn’t have asked about Zymun. It was enough for him to know that they knew something was deeply wrong with his half brother. He hadn’t gathered any evidence yet that Zymun was gone on the dates of the massacre at Apple Grove. Once he did, he wanted to confront the man in front of them about it. But that time would come. Soon.

“To the matter at hand,” Andross suggested.

For once, they were all quite willing to agree.

“What is this weapon you claim to have?” Andross asked.

“You haven’t figured it out yet, grandfather?” Kip asked as if it were easy. “How to counter the bane?”

“I have many ideas. The question is what your single one is. And whether it’s right.”

“Our forebears knew about the bane, and they knew far more than we do,” Kip started. “Yet another thing the Chromeria has hidden that endangers us all.”

“They couldn’t have imagined the nine kingdoms of old united,” Karris said. “They surely couldn’t have imagined fighting more than one bane at a time.”

“Nonetheless,” Kip said. “The ancients didn’t leave us defenseless. The defenses are all around us.”

“I’m not in the mood for games,” Andross said.

“The Thousand Stars and the Tower Mirrors,” Kip said. “They weren’t intended to be expensive amusements or symbols of Orholam’s kindness or even complicated instruments for executions—though they are all those things, too. They’re weapons. They were made to fight the old gods.”

Karris believed it instantly. Kip could see her faith on her face, as if everything was finally coming together, here at the end of things, perfectly in time. Andross looked like he was having to do far more work, fitting this potential revelation into an intricate rubric of what he already knew and all the terms and conditions this revelation would have to fulfill to be true. But his initial read seemed cautiously positive.

“How?” Andross asked. “How
exactly
?”

Kip swallowed. “I don’t know exactly. That we have to fight six or seven bane rather than one like ancients would’ve prepared for? I think that’s why we need someone who can juggle more things at the same time than anyone else. Someone with immense power, and someone with an implacable will, able to roll back the very stone of history careening down a hill to crush this empire.”

“
Someone
really special, huh?” Andross said.

“You probably want to know about the threat, and how I’m sure of it,” Kip said.

Andross looked like he wanted to nail Kip up on that ‘someone’ remark, but he let it go for the moment. So Kip gave them a summary of what had happened since they’d last had messages from each other.

It turned out that though both had sent numerous letters, few had gotten through, so repetition was necessary. Naturally, he skipped things that he didn’t think they had any need to know. He was sure they were doing the same to him. And certain questions couldn’t be asked, such as if Karris had heard anything from Teia. Kip had hoped she’d be on Blackguard duty when he came in. He’d have to wander by the barracks on his way out.

When he got to his account of the naval battle, Andross went purple with rage.

Not, it turned out, at Kip. Instead, it was with Caul Azmith. He looked, briefly, like he was going to blame Karris for it.

She said quietly, “I was able to bust him down to captain of a single ship. It was as big a step down as I could manage without your political backing. Which I didn’t seem to have at the time. Maybe we should remember who made him a general in the first place?”

Kip could see the answer by the pinched look on Andross’s face.

“If he manages to survive this battle,” Andross said, “and his sort always do, somehow—a death will have to be arranged. Make a note of it, Grinwoody. And notify me the next time any of his relations are up for any type of office anywhere. That family needs to end.”

“Not that I have any love for the Azmiths, but if we’re gonna make a whole family pay when one of its members causes a few thousand deaths, the Guiles are in a whole lot of trouble,” Kip said.

Andross’s eyes flashed. “Didn’t you come here to beg some favor of me? Reconsider your attitude, boy.”

“Look, old man!” Cruxer burst out, from nowhere. “Kip left a throne to come here to save you. Wealth, position, security? He gave those up out of loyalty to the Chromeria—and even to
you
. You sent no help to us when we were dying for the Seven Satrapies, and yet here he is. Because he’s a hundred times the man you are. So if anyone ought to check his attitude, it’s you.”

Everyone was stunned to silence.

Kip was reminded that Cruxer naturally deferred to authority, but this was also the young man who’d broken Aram’s knee out of the blue when he saw authority endorsing injustice.

Andross waved to the Blackguards at the door. “Remove this failed Blackguard trainee. I can’t abide mediocrity.”

Cruxer didn’t even look to Kip to countermand the order. He strode toward the door.

“Oh, Grinwoody,” Andross said, projecting his voice so that Cruxer was sure to hear him, “check if Inana ux Holdfast is still getting a pension for her time in the Blackguard. And cancel it. Check to see if perhaps she’s been overpaid for years and owes a ruinously large debt.”

That was Cruxer’s mother.

The young commander of the Mighty flinched as if struck, but he didn’t turn.

He walked out.

Andross looked at Kip to see how he’d react.

“You’re speaking,” Kip said icily, “as if you’ll be giving out pensions or collecting debts next week, much less next year.”

“Make your demands,” Andross said as if bored. Kip knew it was a put-on.

“I need to figure out the mirror array. So I need unfettered access to it, immediately.”

“You haven’t figured them out yet?”

Kip had already answered that. “I will,” Kip said.

“You haven’t figured out if they do what you claim, much less how,” Andross said, darkly amused, “and yet you ask to be given a privilege that has been reserved to Prisms alone for centuries. I’ll grant you this, you have grown into the Guile arrogance.”

“It’s not arrogance,” Karris interjected. Her eyes were thoughtful. “Is it, Kip?”

“I don’t claim to be free of it,” Kip said. “But I don’t think this is that.”

“What is it, then? You think you can undercut your brother at the last moment?” Andross asked.

“Half brother,” Kip said. “And no. It’s not pride. It’s purpose.” Kip turned his hands up, as if offering himself.

His grandfather’s eyes flicked to Kip’s left wrist momentarily, and narrowed, and Kip saw him sink in thought. For a moment, Kip couldn’t help but think, I just told you there’s an invasion imminent. Shouldn’t you be issuing some orders?

But Andross had shown himself quite willing to jump, once he decided which way. These few moments now, in his estimation, were worth the delay.

“Send a runner to Carver Black,” Andross said to Grinwoody. “I want to meet him here before the Spectrum meeting.”

Grinwoody bobbed and headed out.

Andross turned to Kip. “You would
bring light
against the bane. You would save the Jaspers and the empire. And it has to be you. Special, special you.”

“Special in that I’m the only full-spectrum polychrome we’ve got who can do it.”

“Nonsense. We’ve got plenty of full-spectrum polychromes.”

“Plenty?” Karris asked. “Half a dozen? Ten, if some have come for Sun Day?”

“The time for the Chromeria to ignore things they don’t like is over,” Kip said. “High Lord Promachos, I’ve got a genius for drafting a lot of different colors not only serially but simultaneously. And I’m almost as Will-full as you are. I’m a Guile, and there’s no one better equipped for this.”

“Are you the Lightbringer?” Andross asked quietly.

It seemed as if history itself pulled sharply at the air through clenched teeth. No one moved.

Kip knew what he needed to say.

Voice firm, level: “I am.”

And everyone breathed differently. The course was set. They were committed. Whether Andross was going to imprison or kill them for blasphemy, or if he’d fall in line behind them, was out of their hands now.

“The most important man in history,” Andross said quietly. “Standing before me. My own . . . grandson.” His tone was impossible to read. Mockery? Thoughtfulness?

But Kip thought he felt a current of grief in Andross’s voice, as if he weren’t mocking Kip but marveling at how the universe was mocking him.

“If it makes you feel better,” Kip said, “the amount of luxin I’m talking about drafting will certainly kill me. Even if I look like the big hero for a moment, you’ll be the most important man in the room again the very next day.”

Kip could feel the Mighty looking at him. He hadn’t talked about that part with them.

“You think that’s what I care about?” Andross asked.

“Yes,” Kip said instantly.

Winsen snorted.

Dammit, Win.

“We should make him Prism,” Karris said. “It solves three problems for us at once.”

“Three?” Andross asked. “What’s the third?”

“Kip dying? Getting killed by all the luxin he drafts?” Karris asked.

“Funny, that sounded more like a solution to me,” Andross said. He seemed to have sunk into a dark place where no one could follow.

Kip wasn’t sure which problems Karris was talking about. That only a Prism was supposed to use the array atop the Prism’s Tower was one.

Karris said, “Zymun will be furious if you let Kip impinge on what he believes to be his rights as Prism-elect, even if he isn’t Prism yet. And we need to talk about
that
issue anyway. Our time is running out.”

Ah, that was the second problem solved by naming Kip Prism first. Sort of. Zymun would still be furious, of course, just not in a position to do anything about it.

“It’s impossible,” Andross said.

“Displacing Zymun?” Karris asked.

“Making Kip Prism.” As if those weren’t the same thing for some reason.

“Why?” Karris asked.

“
Literally
impossible,” Andross said.

“Oh, right. Shit,” Karris said. Then she blanched and held her head in both hands and swore again.

“So . . . you figured it out,” Andross said, not even turning to look at her. “Finally.”

Figured what out? Kip thought.

“I wondered if you had,” Andross said. “What with your little holy cadre of faithful young luxiats. Have you told
them
yet? Or was it they who told you?”

Kip wanted desperately to know what they were talking about, but he knew his best chance to find out was to keep his mouth shut.

Andross seemed amused that she didn’t answer. “You’re one of only two on the Spectrum who know now.”

“You’ve been weeding out everyone else,” Karris said. “Why?”

“Then you haven’t figured it all out, after all. You might want to look into your beloved Orea Pullawr’s legacy more closely. The old White wasn’t quite so blameless as you’ve liked to believe. Her husband even less so.”

“Really? Let’s talk about blame,” Karris said, suddenly fiery. “I think it’s way past time you answered some questions of mine. And let’s talk about my faithful luxiats. You know they say the Lightbringer’s going to purify the faith. To me that sounds like I’m joining in his work. As the Red, much less as promachos, why wouldn’t
you
?”

“We can talk about that later,” Andross said, waving her to be quiet. “If I get around to it. So much to do.” Dismissive asshole. Then he turned to Grinwoody, who had been holding one finger out, but inconspicuously, to draw his master’s attention when he was ready. “Yes?”

Quietly Grinwoody said, “I’ve an errand. Your leave?”

Andross waved him to go, then stabbed a finger at Kip. “What’s
that
?”

“What’s what?” Kip asked.

“On your arm. Is that a
tattoo
?” Andross asked.

He meant the Turtle-Bear on Kip’s left wrist with its freshly bright luxin lines in every color. Kip had been drafting a lot recently. He hadn’t even thought to cover it up.

“We can talk about that later,” Kip said. “If I get around to it. So much to do. There’s a war coming? Maybe we should talk about that?”

“The adults will talk about that when Carver Black arrives,” Andross said. “You know the Chromeria absolutely forbids tattoos.”

“I know. I don’t care.” It was an old and remarkably stupid prohibition. During an early and contentious era before colored lenses were widely available, some lighter-skinned drafters had tattooed blocks of their drafting color on their arms to give themselves an ever-present color source. In a partisan power play, the dominant Parians, whose darker skin made color tattoos less helpful to them, had pushed through a prohibition on all tattoos to solidify their perennial hold on the Blackguard. What would happen to their dominance if lighter-skinned warriors could negate the advantages of dark skin
and
gain ever-present color sources simply by getting tattoos?

“You can’t afford to thumb your nose at the Spectrum when you come begging favors. We’ll talk more about that thing on your forearm, but for the moment, how about putting on something with sleeves?”

“Of course,” Kip said. And in moments, he was pulling on Ferkudi’s coat.

Andross studied him all the while. Then he pursed his lips. “Yes.”

Yes? Oh, to the mirror array. He was granting permission. Thank Orholam.

A secretary produced a quill, parchment, and Andross’s promachos seal. Andross wrote a brief note himself. As the secretary made copies, Andross drew up another writ granting Kip provisions and shelter for his forces.